Reminder
by Ellenka
Summary: After weeks of being fed the opposite from every screen and not being allowed to look away, a reminder there's hope beyond the grasp of the Capitol comes handy. (Late holiday fic.)


(All ownership disclaimed. Just a tiny pointless thing to make up for the last mess I wrote. Was supposed to be an X-mas fic. Oh well, time flies.)

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><p><strong>Reminder<strong>

"That's the wrong way, Catnip!" my friend calls over the rising wind.

We are far beyond the fence of our district, dangerously far on a cold winter day, with the morning's light snowfall having turned into a full blizzard, with both of us hungry and freezing.

"I know where I'm going now," I force out through chattering teeth. I don't want to waste my breath explaining, and we need to get there as soon as possible. "Trust me?"

He looks into my eyes for a moment, squinting against the snowflakes. "Sure."

I point out the direction and Gale takes the lead, plowing a path through the thickening snowdrifts. I follow him without bothering to protest. Trudging in the snow for hours without having eaten properly for too long is taking its toll, I'm secretly grateful for whatever help I can get. Even if tracking that deer that ended up getting away was my idea. A gamble, but a pretty much necessary one – we'd found only three rabbits in Gale's snares, and nothing else showed up for me to shoot. A whole deer would go a long way towards helping us out of the misery we found ourselves in this winter.

The Capitol has upped the tesserae rations a bit to 'celebrate' the victory tour, but it was too little, too late. No big feast and no parcel days for us, after all we've had only one victor in seventy-three years. The spectacle had us wasting good hunting time, both during mandatory watching and when the fence was live just because the electricity was on to power the TVs if anyone _wanted_ to watch more. We'd needed to trade more than usual, with the kids growing fast and old warm clothes falling apart, and barely scraped by until we were finally free to go back to the woods.

We've ventured too far and almost gotten lost, and I'm feeling lost still even now that I'm cowering behind Gale's back as he forges ahead on the way I'd pointed out. I keep making lists in my head of everything we need and don't have enough to provide. My thoughts muddle together and fingers are turning to ice even in my gloves, I can hardly hold onto the bow I force myself to hold in my hand just in case. As always, when it comes to the worst, my father's old words echo in my mind.

_As long as you can find yourself, you will never starve._

They'd saved me once when I fully realized what they mean and how I can provide for my family, and countless times since then, but aren't much help now. I'm no longer alone and already trying my best, but still failing at times. Hours ago, we've even passed a pond where we used to gather katniss tubers in the spring, but it's been deeply frozen for weeks.

Nothing can be found there now.

Even with Gale and I helping each other out and our mothers trying their hardest too, I tend to lose the faith that we can make it.

Sometimes, I don't believe we are enough.

.

Gale stops so abruptly I collide with his back. I peek around his shoulder and then up at his surprised face.

Here we are.

There's not much to take in, heavy snowfall has turned the frozen lake into a featureless sheet of white, with laden trees huddled around the edges, and one abandoned concrete hut between them, but Gale is still staring in disbelief. "You knew this is here? Why haven't we been here before?"

I feel almost guilty for not having led him to such a good place earlier, but I couldn't bring myself to. "I… we… never needed to go this far. Right?"

The clouds of our frozen breath mix in the air. Gale frowns for a moment, but lets the subject drop. "Well, now we need to go in. C'mon."

I'm relieved, but not surprised. Of course he'd understand. Maybe he has a secret place he'd discovered with his father, too, and is waiting for the right opportunity.

.

From inside, the cabin looks just like I remember. Just like we'd left it with my father for the last time, with a ready pile of wood intact next to a small hearth.

The rabbits we've retrieved from the snares before are frozen stiff, so I leave two in the cold by the door and put the scrawniest one on top of the hearth to thaw so that we can clean and roast it. We'll have to eat now to regain the strength to get home. We need to get there before dark, even if the blizzard didn't let up and we had to fight it all the way back. Our families are waiting for us, we can't disappoint them.

Gale quickly lights the fire, using precious matches to save time. Then he shakes snowflakes off his coat and lays it out on the floor to give us something nicer than concrete to sit on. He flops down and grins at me, lips still tinged blue from the cold.

I remain standing above him for a few moments, thinking hard, then slip my own jacket from my shoulders and hand it to him.

Just a small gesture – I'm just giving my best friend a jacket to wrap around us so that we both can be warm. Huge for me, though, because I feel like I'm letting him into a protective shell I've kept around me for years. Allowing Gale wear it is somehow more meaningful than leading him to our old shelter when the circumstances forced me to. It's a decision to let him in, further than before.

He seems to understand, and his grin melts into a smile, solemn but somehow more genuine. He nods slightly and puts the jacket on. Gale's taller now than my father had been, but still lanky, his body struggling to fill out after the last growth spurt. The jacket hangs off his shoulders a bit – though it fits him much better me – and his wrists are sticking out, sharp bones outlined by the firelight.

I look him over quickly, expecting the sight to feel all wrong, but it somehow doesn't. It's both old and new, a reminder of someone I'd lost clashing with the reality of the one I've found since then, but I don't feel the need to shy away from the change.

So I settle between Gale's bent knees, facing the hearth, pushing my half-frozen toes as close to the as I dare and stretching stiff fingers towards the fire. Our bodies are still separated by thick sweaters, but our combined warmth quickly seeps into the lumpy wool, stronger when we share it. Gale envelops me in the jacket and in his arms too as he reaches forward around me. We spend a few minutes in a ridiculous competition who can reach farther, and then who can trap the others' fingers between their own. Gale eventually wins, easily clasping both my hands between large palms, but I hardly mind. It's warm there, and I'm laughing so hard my empty stomach aches, chasing the cold from my muscles. I can feel Gale's laugh rumbling in his chest, ringing in my ear.

Slowly, we calm down and huddle together, Gale's chin resting on my shoulder. I let myself relax for the moment, forget the demands swirling in my head and _breathe_.

I lean my face into the lapel of the jacket, drawing in the comforting smell that still clings to it. When I close my eyes, I could almost pretend I'm back here with my father, that he'll let me rest and fix everything while I do, that the tomorrow I'll wake up will be kind.

But the pressure of Gale's arms around me and his breath on my cheek make me feel something else, remind me that I'm older, that I'm here with my best friend instead. If 'friend' is enough of a word to describe him. It's different, but not a bad kind of different. I feel just as safe, with a tingle of warmth coursing through my body as our hearts beat in a familiar unison. We have no fathers to help us, and we'll have to face all the troubles awaiting us, but we can do it together.

We rest in silence for a long moment; I almost suspect Gale's dozed off. His breath is deep and regular against my back, my own falling in tune. I snap from my own half-slumber when he suddenly speaks.

"You know people used to give each other presents around this time?"

"Yeah," I say cautiously.

According to anold tradition, people used to give each other presents to celebrate the birth of a man who was also more than a man, a teacher, and a healer who could do miraculous things. And later got nailed to some sort of a tree for his trouble, by a government similar to our Capitol long long ago. He came back from the dead, though, and his sacrifice redeemed the world.

I think I stopped believing that around the time when I realized that twenty three kids are sacrificed on live television every year, and nothing good ever comes off it. Must have been nice to believe that one person can save the world, however bad it has become. Or to believe something else completely, with the different faiths existing side by side, at least that's what father used to tell me.

Maybe it was better that way. Or maybe not so much, if it didn't work out and we ended up here. Now, all we have is the Games, the Victory tour, and a few more Capitol-sanctioned holidays, dictating the rhythm of the year and trapping us in the vicious cycle of their entertainment. The old customs are remembered only in fragments, hidden in hushed songs and whispered stories.

"Do you even know when exactly it was?" I ask, curious. The tradition is secret. Rebellious, even, since the Capitol doesn't like the idea of people giving and getting gifts outside their official 'generosity'.

Gale and I haven't shared it before. With Prim and mother, we hadn't even observed it in the tiny way we used to when my father was still alive: a fresh pine branch brightened with a piece of tinsel, words of hope and thanks whispered as we huddled together over our kitchen table, and a batch of cookies mother baked with honey and smidgens of spice we'd saved up for, shaped like trees, birds, fish, and long-tailed stars. Mother couldn't bring herself to try... after… and I stuck to trying to find a little something for Prim, but could hardly afford more than a necessity wrapped with a shabby ribbon every year. Made her happy, either way.

"Back then? No. But father always got us a little something the Sunday after the victory tour."

"Mine too."

"Did you like that?"

"Yeah. Of course." It was nice, how could it not?

"Good. Because I have something for you."

I turn sharply, slipping away from his arms and the jacket, facing him. "Wait, don't tell me you bought anything! I don't really need…" I bite my lip and gnash my teeth. Truthfully, I'd need many things, but these are necessities I wouldn't let Gale get by himself and pay for. And I can do without anything special. Our resources are depleted enough as it is, have been for too long. I wouldn't forgive him if he went and got something frivolous just to… impress me, or whatever. Or even just to try and make me happy. I've spent long enough time trying to make myself believe I can do without that, as long as Prim is healthy and provided for. What more happiness do I need?

Gale chuckles at my indignation, leans over to reach into his coat pocket and produces a tiny package. "Don't worry, wouldn't dare. But I made you something. Been meaning to try and give it to you tomorrow, but since we have some time alone now…" He grins and rubs the back of his head with his free hand. "Thought I might do it a little earlier."

He looks both shy and eager, the mix of emotions on his face making him look somehow younger, more vulnerable. I wouldn't tell him aloud, but something about the expression makes me smile. I'm skeptical about the gift, but too curious to resist, and snatch the package from his open palm.

Brown paper rustles as I unwrap it, and something falls into my hand. I try to conceal a gasp of surprise.

It's a tiny wooden pendant shaped like my namesake, with three-petaled flowers huddled under a leaf resembling an arrowhead, complete with a tiny wire loop and a string of cured leather as a necklace. I know Gale likes to cut out wooden toys for the kids, he even made a few for Prim, but I've never seen him do something this tiny and delicate. I can't even imagine his hands carving it, but here it is.

"Wow, it's so… Gale, how did you…"

He shrugs and grins, more assured now, but his voice hitches slightly. "Well, I remember what you told me when you showed me that pond." Well, I also remember how he teased me all the time we harvested my namesake plants together, but the memory brings just a fond smile. "As long as you can find yourself, you will never starve. But it's been damn hard times lately, and it looked like you were… forgetting. So I thought you could use a reminder of… something good."

"They make a good job of making us forget," I say bitterly. Gale is usually the one to start rants, but it's true. After weeks of being fed the opposite from every screen and not being allowed to look away, a reminder there's hope beyond the grasp of the Capitol comes handy. At least with Gale, I can admit it freely, a feel a little lighter when I do. "Guess I needed that after all."

"So you like it?"

I smile and hand it back to him to help me put it on. "A lot. Thanks."

Gale's fingers brush mine as he takes it, and I turn and lift my braid to let him tie it around my neck. He knots the string loosely so that the pendant falls against my sternum. I touch it with one hand, holding it up, and turn back to face him, folding my legs under me.

"And remember I'm here for you, whatever you need, okay?" he says quietly, smiling but serious.

"I can take care of myself," I snap, harder than I intended. I really don't want to downplay his gesture, but the response is too ingrained, and after how hopeless I've felt earlier, I need to hear myself say it aloud.

Gale rolls his eyes. "I wasn't saying you can't. Just a reminding you aren't in it alone."

I tacitly admit I needed to hear that, too. "I know. Thanks."

My free hand moves instinctively to Gale's face, my thumb brushing the skin under his cheekbone, already rough with a shadow of stubble. His smile fills my vision and I realize I'm staring at his lips, dry and chapped but back to a healthy color, beautifully curved. Suddenly, I don't know what to do. Mother used to touch father just like this when he'd just come home, or gave her a gift... or just because. Then she would kiss him, and blush or hide a laugh when she caught me or tiny Prim watching.

There's nobody watching now, but I'm not ready to cross that line. I wouldn't dare to want a bond like the one they shared, not with knowing what's become of my mother after she lost it.

I drop my gaze quickly, feeling my cheeks burn.

"Umm… Likewise?" I mutter uncertainly. I am sure that I'm here for him just like is for me; just out of my depth for a moment, as if I glimpsed an unfamiliar sight when opening a well-known door.

Gale laughs softly and brushes his lips over my forehead. "Thanks, Catnip."

I give him a light jab in the ribs, and relax as the awkwardness passes.

Smiling, I tuck the pendant under my clothes, close to my heart. Whatever I have with Gale, it's just right. A gift unto itself.

I let myself settle back into his arms for a while longer.

.

The storm blows itself out by the time we eat, allowing us to make it to the Hob just before the early nightfall, and home to make rabbit stew for a late dinner. I manage to shoot a turkey on the way back, but we save that for Sunday when we arrange for both our families to dine together.

We have no honey or spice this year, but I still make mother and Prim help me with simple grain biscuits to surprise the Hawthornes with. Prim's eyes light up as we cut the shapes, and I know she remembers. Mother's shine with tears, but she still helps me make stars in the memory of the fathers. Prim crafts some sort of a bird for me, and I save one cookie for Gale, shaped like the large hawthorn tree we sometimes pass while out hunting.

.

He keeps smiling at me throughout the dinner, our elbows bumping amicably every now and then. We are surrounded by our families now, but sitting as close as if we were out alone, in the woods where we seek and find both sustenance and sanity.

I touch the place where the pendant rests under my shirt and return his smiles, feeling reassured.

We have each other's back and we'll make it. To this spring and beyond, for as long as necessary.


End file.
